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(I have no idea where this originated; if anyone knows the author, I'll be delighted to give full credit).

The power of the press

Last week I mentioned an interview with the Monticello Herald-Journal; if you'd like to read the results, you can find the article here. Some of the details are mixed up, and not quite accurate-- certainly I'm not "operating" the shelter, for example; Barb should get credit for that, and I told the reporter so. And the funding they mention ($11,000 per year, or roughly .25 per resident per day, are the correct figures) is the annual operating expense for the shelter, the cost of which is supported by the parish, not the diocese. However, on the main points about the work itself, it's not bad. And the reporter does get bonus points for spelling-- with my name, that's not something I take for granted.

In any case, we're already starting to get some results: a couple of phone calls from people interested in helping-- and the donation of a much-needed refrigerator!

Insert doxology here.

And now, a word from our sponsor...

I got an email this morning from my bishop. That would be the Rt. Rev. Edward S. Little II, Seventh Bishop of the Diocese of Northern Indiana, shown at left in full ecclesial regalia. A very formal title and image, for a very informal sort of man.

Among other things, Ed mentioned that he had noticed my earlier posting about Hoosier time zone issues when he was reading my blog last night. (Yes, he stops by occasionally. Mind your manners, and play nice.)

His answer to our Indiana time zone variations? He asked his wife to buy him a watch with two dials, so that during "the dreaded five months" (November through March, when there are time differences in our diocese) he can always know what time it is at the various parishes and missions under his care.

Keep in mind that this is a guy who specifically requests that our Ember Day letters arrive via email (he answers them the same way, usually within the week), and never leaves home without his Palm Pilot.

I should have known that my technogeek bishop would have a solution that included a clever gadget.

Goin' to the chapel... eventually.

I was late to church yesterday. Only by a few minutes; It was 8:05 when I walked in the door for the 8:00 service. Not bad, for a parishioner. Not good, for the pastor.

I'm accustomed to being in Monticello shortly after 7:00 each morning. I open the doors, program the music into the Synthia, lay out the bulletins and mark the readings. Then I (hopefully) have time to go over my sermon, and to pray in the silence, before people begin to show up for worship.

Not this time.

Some poor soul rolled an SUV, leaving it lying on its back, tires in the air. Traffic was naturally at a standstill until the driver was removed and taken away in an ambulance, and the vehicle removed from the road-- about 45 minutes, all told. I didn't realize there was a problem, of course, until I pulled to a stop-- just south of an exit, so I couldn't get off and go around.

I called my Sr. Warden. Spoke to his wife, actually, and let her know that I'd be behind schedule, and why. She was sympathetic, and promised to go early, to open the place up.

And then I sat there, stuck with dozens of other vehicles in a two-lane parking lot on I-65. The area around Exit 240 is not an especially scenic place. There's a truck stop: "The Flying J." A couple of gas stations. An Adult Superstore (at least, that's what the sign said. The building didn't look that big to me). And cornfields, of course, stretching back to trees at the horizon.

I put some music in the CD player. One I burned at home, labeled Theology: some Christian music, some secular, it's a mix of things that are important to me, for one reason or another. Stuff to think and pray by. So that's what I did, while I waited for the road to clear.

I did finally make it to church, as I said, only a few minutes late. Slapped the music into Synthia, and led the congregation in Morning Prayer. And it was good.

Then I made the drive home-- uneventful, this time-- and took a nice, long nap.

I guess you could call my time on the highway a sort of enforced contemplative moment. After the last couple days, I think I'd call it a gift.

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 12C
Genesis 18:20-33
Psalm 138
Colossians 2:6-15
Luke 11:1-13


Persistence. My brothers and sisters, that seems to be the point. If there’s a big theme that is present in today’s readings, anything that brings them together, a unifying theme of any sort, I think this is it.

We hear it first in the Old Testament, in Abraham’s talk with God about the impending destruction of Sodom. Over and over again, Abraham appeals to God, asking for mercy, and forgiveness in God’s justice. He whittles God down, steadily decreasing the number of righteous people that must be present in the city for impending doom to be averted, for forgiveness to be given.

This is another one of those stories that reminds me that I am glad God is in charge, and not me. I have seen the Boss’ job, and I do not want it-- and this story is one reason why. My patience would have worn thin long before this conversation was over. It sounds way too much like the kind of incessant pestering that many kids try to do, when they want permission for something. “Can I go?” “Can I?” “Just this once?” “Please?” I say many kids here, rather than my kids, because our children have learned that my tolerance level for pestering is very nearly nil-- and that I am quite likely to spit out an automatic “No” if they don’t back off. It just makes me crazy, that sort of relentless wearing down. In this morning's lesson, it’s entirely possible that old Abe would have got halfway through his dickering, and I’d have snapped, and wiped him out right along with the rest. So much for “the father of many nations.”

Fortunately, God is in charge, and much more patient than I am. He not only listens to Abraham’s repeated pleas, but considers them anew each time, and gives an answer that reflects his ongoing desire for forgiveness and mercy; his intention, as the psalmist asks, not to abandon the works of his hands.

I hear the same message in the gospel this morning, as Jesus is teaching his followers the same lesson: not only is God patient with our repeated prayers, and questions, and requests, He actively encourages them. God wants us to persist, to keep trying -- turning to him, and re-turning, continuing to bring our problems, our questions, our repeated needs and desires-- all of it, over and over again. We are to persist in asking, in knocking, in seeking God, and knowledge of God’s will for our lives, as well as for the gifts of the Holy Spirit-- the skills we need to live out the lives of decipleship to which God calls all of us.

You know, I’m going to let you in on something I’ve learned about preaching. More than once, I’ve discovered that the message that I find to proclaim in a sermon, the Word that I have to share with you, is one that is intended just as much for me to hear, and to learn (or relearn) as for anyone else. And this is one of those.

The other day I had a meeting with a small group of friends. We got together to discuss a project we’re working on together, as well as to do some of what you might term “team-building” work: looking at strengths and weaknesses that we each have, and how those affect our dealings with one another.

Like many things in this life, that sort of endeavor sounds simple enough; and it was. But simple does not always mean easy. And having one’s faults and foibles pointed out, however well-intentioned and necessary it may be, is a difficult thing-- and even more so when others see weaknesses or lacks in areas where I had thought I had some skill. A couple of those really hit home, hard. By the end of the afternoon, I was exhausted with the effort, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner somewhere. I managed to wait until I was in my car and alone before the tears finally overflowed, working their way out as I made the long drive home, wondering how qualified I was for this work I was trying to do.

But then, eventually, I remembered these lessons we’re hearing this morning, and the message of persistence and encouragement they carry. “Ask,” Jesus says. “Seek.” Don’t give up. Keep trying. God knows it’s hard; make the effort anyway. None of us is perfect, and we all need help. Keep knocking on that door, brothers and sisters. God will answer, and we will be given what we need. We have Jesus’ promise on that. And I’m here to tell you, that’s good news worth hearing, and worth sharing.

Thanks be to God.

Keepin' busy

My family's out of town this weekend. They're down in southern Indiana, for a family celebration. The party's tonight, so I couldn't go, because I need to be in Monticello for Sunday worship; a 3-4 hour drive before an 8:00 am service means getting up too early in the morning, even for me. So I stayed home, alone in this house for the first time since I can't remember when.

I have plenty to keep me busy, though. Aside from the weekly sermon to finish (currently half-done, and a work in progress), I've promised to be over at church first thing this morning, to help take down the banners we hung a while back, and to change a few light bulbs. There is a dearth of souls in the parish willing and able to climb a 30-foot extension ladder, and I don't mind heights, so I volunteered-- so long as there are sturdy folks willing to hold the base steady. This is very much a team effort.

I leave from there to drive north, picking up Tripp and Larry, and meeting David for a pastoral team meeting for the new congregation I mentioned in passing a few weeks ago. This will be good; I do like working with these guys.

Before I head out, however, I wanted to introduce my newest niece, who came home from the hospital last night.

Isn't she gorgeous?

Fast Time

Todd is complaining about Montana geography. Poor guy; I'd be bewildered, too.

Here in the Hooiser state we have no problems with direction. Up is north, and down is south, just as it should be.

However, what we have issues with is time. We are schizophrenic about that. Several counties in the NW follow Central Time, while another batch in the south stay on Eastern. And we change our clocks to reflect the shifts to and from Daylight Savings Time.

The vast majority of the state, however, does not do so. They proudly and defiantly refuse to bow to peer pressure, regardless of how persuasive the argument might seem ("No damfool idjot fed'ral gub'mint's gonna tell me how to set my clock!"). This is a county-by-county decision.

So, in the summer, like now, most of the state seems to be on Central Time. In the winter this shifts, when some neighbors change clocks, and others don't. For example, the clocks in my diocesan offices, located in South Bend, are currently showing the same time as the ones here, in the northwest corner. Come the last Sunday in October, however, I will change, and they won't; so my bishop's watch will read an hour later than mine. At that point, he will have the same numbers on his digital as my mother-in-law, down in New Albany, when she "falls back" to Eastern Standard Time.

This is why you will often hear references to "fast time," or "slow time." This has nothing to do with the speed at which time is moving. Instead, it lets you know what the clock will say at the location of the party/game/whatever, and how that compares with the clocks of those folks down the road, who may be attending from the next county over.

Confused? Welcome to Indiana.

Is there an HTML doctor in the house?

Last spring, Blogger made some big changes-- most notably, they began to provide their own commenting, if one chose. They offered some features I really liked, so I changed my template in order to be able to use them.

Unfortunately, my "Just Enough to be Dangerous" level of HTML knowledge was not adequate to hooking up my archives properly-- so they still showed up in my old template style, and were not available after May, 2004 (when I made the switch). This was beginning to be annoying.

I finally found a patch that lets me access the rest of them this morning. It's not very pretty, though, and it groups them by the week, rather than the month, which is what I'd prefer.

Any suggestions from more experienced users would be greatly appreciated.

Lutheran Pietism

I have this new friend-- well, Larry himself is not new, he's been around for a few years now; but our friendship is of recent vintage-- who describes himself as a Lutheran Pietist. Now, maybe I've led a sheltered life, but I had not heard this term before; so being the inquisitive sort, I did some poking around online, trying to educate myself a bit. If you'd like to do the same, you can go here for a quick overview, as well as a more detailed description and history. The article describes four traits of the Pietist Movement:

(1) Its experiential character - pietists are people of the heart for whom Christian living is the fundamental concern;
(2) its biblical focus - pietists are, to paraphrase John Wesley, "people of one book" who take standards and goals from the pages of Scripture;
(3) its perfectionistic bent - pietists are serious about holy living and expend every effort to follow God's law, spread the gospel, and provide aid for the needy;
(4) its reforming interest - pietists usually oppose what they regard as coldness and sterility in established church forms and practices.

I need to learn more about how this is lived out; but this does not sound like a bad approach to discipleship.

"Mother Nature's Matinee"

I'm not nearly the Styx expert that Todd is, but this title seems an apt description of my trip home yesterday (even if it was evening instead of morning). Between the summer lightning flashing in the sky, and the untold numbers of fireflies sparkling in the grass along the expressway, it was a fascinating, amazing sight to behold. A dramatic end to my weekly "long day" down at St. Mary's.

A short synopsis:

-One shelter resident's paperwork filed with the local Welfare office, to begin the process of straightening out bolluxed-up benefits.

-One local woman taken to the doctor for necessary medical attention, and then welcomed into Grace House's kitchen, to take home some donated food for her family.

-One large project-- sorting and storing donated clothing-- organized and begun (the shelter residents should be able to complete this in the next few days).

-One interview with a local newspaper reporter.

-One thoroughly enjoyable Bible study, focused on the theme of persistence (see next Sunday's lectionary readings for details).

Never a dull moment in this business, is there?

And baby makes four!

Grace Elizabeth Mayberry

born this day
at 3:30 in the afternoon
7 pounds, 14 ounces
19 inches long
Healthy, and strong, and beautiful.
Welcomed by loving parents Lisa and Jim
and big brother Matthew.
Thanks be to God.

(and I get to be an aunt again!)

Summer reading list

Each year, our local high school-- along with most of the schools in the area-- sends its students home with a list of three or four books over the summer. They're serious about it too. Students are tested over the material during the first week back after vacation, and their scores comprise a significant chunk of their grade for the term.

This may be the easiest assignment of the year. Carolyn's a bookworm, so telling her she has to read is rather like standing on our driveway in July and telling ice to melt. We picked up the last of her books today.

What are the incoming Juniors reading this year? Glad you asked!

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
A Lesson Before Dying
The Piano Lesson
Cold Sassy Tree
I haven't read a couple of them, so I'll be snagging those when she's done. I find it interesting-- in a good way-- that they don't exclusively focus on the "standard classics." Usually one or two will be, but not all four. The rules seem to be that the books are recognized as quality literature, Pulitzer prize winners and such; and that at least one will be a play. Over the years, they have run heavily to fiction, but not exclusively.

So, here's the natural question: if you were the teacher, what would you be assigning?

Words to live by

Interested in starting a new church? I am, so I was interested when Karen directed me to Matt's Challenges to a New Church. Challenges, indeed; check it out.

Sunday off?

Not hardly. We did have a supply priest at St. Mary's this morning (Ted came over from Kokomo to preside at the Eucharist) so I wasn't in the pulpit today-- the only week during this internship I won't spend time prepping a sermon. I was glad to hear another preacher, but I still found I missed my chance at the lectern. I'm not so experienced yet that I look forward to time off-- I still relish the opportunity to preach, every time. But it was good to hear Ted's take on the scriptures this morning; he had some things to say that I appreciated.

Meanwhile, this did not mean that I was off the hook, or unoccupied. The congregation was very sparse (two women, and Ted's sweet wife, who was his copilot this morning), and contained none of the folks who regularly read, or operate the Synthia for our music. So my role expanded to lector/intercessor/LEM/acolyte/music player. It went more or less smoothly, but I was occupied enough to have a hard time worshipping. An interesting experience, especially when the Gospel for the day was Luke's story of Mary and Martha. How much of what I was doing was needful? A good question, and one I'm continuing to consider.

On the bright side

Okay, the back is still unhappy. So I've resorted to the serious meds-- the ones that leave me feeling like my brain is wrapped in cotton wool. I really hate that feeling. Pout. Whine.

Okay, enough of that.

On the other hand, there are a few things to be thankful for in all this:

Family: One loving husband and two great kids, who are being pretty darn patient while I'm rather less than useful here.

Disposable heat wraps: Oh, these are a marvelous invention! Strap one on, and it's comforting and toasty all day.

Toes: I can pick up my washcloth in the shower, or a sock on the floor, without having to bend over. This is a very good thing.

Good news

My back's not any better, but the news from Grace House was. I learned this morning that our conversation with the resident on Tuesday may have done some good. She's decided to stay, and to keep trying, to accept the help she's being offered. Thank you, Jesus.

So Barb (the parishioner that largely manages Grace House; she's a saint) gave her the want ads, and then reminded her to call Social Services and make an appointment to get her benefits straightened out. She's nervous about this; apparently the caseworker with whom she spoke last was less than pleasant to deal with. Barb confirms that the folks over there can be difficult, and condescending with their clients. Something of an attitude.

So, I've offered to go with her-- not to speak for her, but simply as backup. I fully expect, when we arrive in their office next Tuesday, that the staff will be both polite and helpful, and I will be able to sit silently through the interview. This would be a very good thing. I don't want to have to get cranky.

Painful choices...

It was a day for that yesterday, both physical and emotional.

First, I seem to have strained something in my back over the weekend. I don't know what I did-- I have a history of back problems, even had surgery several years ago, to correct a couple of herniated discs-- so I'm generally pretty cautious; but whatever it was, I apparently did it very well.

The good news: Ibuprofen and disposable heat wraps are wondrous things, and really help to bring the pain down to manageable levels.

The bad news: Manageable is not pain-free. And, though I'd like to, I really couldn't take anything stronger during the day, driving as much as I needed to. So I was hobbling a bit, and moving gingerly. Still am.

Secondly, I had to be part of a difficult conversation yesterday, with one of our shelter residents. She's been at Grace House for several months, and (for many reasons) has reached the point of being faced with a choice: to begin to step up, and make the effort (with lots of help and support offered) toward living on her own; or to move out, and find somewhere else to stay. She's thinking, and supposed to let us know what she wants to do today. I am praying hard that she chooses to accept the hands held out to her, for her sake as well as her children's.

Movies

I've seen two in the last several days-- an unusual thing, even on a rental basis. Last Thursday the kids and I made the pilgrimage up to Evanston, to play with some friends and watch Pirates of the Caribbean. We've seen it before, but it was worth watching again; great fun.

Then on Saturday, Bruce & I rented Calendar Girls. If you haven't seen the trailers, it's about a collection of very proper British matrons who, in an effort to raise funds for the local hospital (in memory of one woman's recently deceased husband), pose for a pinup calendar in the altogether. Only their very proper hobbies (strategically placed baked goods, flower arrangements, etc.) stand between them and... impropriety. Good story-- true, even-- and well told. Not a perfect Hollywood body among them, either; simply average women, aged 45-60+, which made it (to my mind) all the more effective.

Here's the question for the day: What do you think of the idea? Is that something you'd do? And why or why not?

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

Proper 10C
Luke 10:25-37

Brothers and sisters, the Samaritans are back! Only two weeks ago, we heard about Jesus’ attempt to visit a village of Samaritans, and being rebuffed. Remember, the Jews from Galilee and Judea, and those from Samaria, didn’t get along well at all. They were distrustful, and tended to avoid one another where possible. Scripture doesn’t say so specifically, but I imagine that when they did encounter one another, they were wary, and touchy, and likely very good at misunderstanding, putting the worst possible spin on anything that was said or done.

Have you ever done that? Had to deal with someone with whom you couldn’t see eye to eye, whose words seemed designed to jab at you whenever they got the chance? I had just that experience with a classmate of mine at seminary. We couldn’t seem to click, regardless of how we tried-- and I will freely admit that, at one time, I wasn’t trying very hard. I was convinced that, for whatever reason, he just plain didn’t like me. Anytime he spoke to me, he seemed to be deliberately abrasive, and I could hear an intended slight in his words far too often to be comfortable. Quite frankly, I found him intimidating; and, as you might guess, I do not like to be intimidated. I took to avoiding him whenever possible-- staying out of his way seemed to be the least painful option.

However, Seabury is a small place. Fewer than 100 students, most of whom live right there “on the block.” Between chapel three times a day, and classes, and community activities, and committee meetings... we are together all the time. It’s rather like living in a very small town: everyone knows everyone, and you can’t help but run into each other just about every day. And so the whole avoiding thing was only marginally successful.

Then too, as time went on, we found ourselves running in the same circle of close friends, much of the time. The people I have come to treasure most, and with whom I have developed the closest friendships, were often also the same people with whom he connected. Even his wife-- a smiling, generous soul, just a sweetheart-- became a real friend. And these good folks would speak of this man, and what a great guy he was, with such love and respect that I found I had to try again to look past the surface, beyond my fearful gut reaction. What did they see that I was missing?

Seems to me that’s just what Jesus is doing in this Gospel today. Two weeks ago, remember, the Samaritans were The Bad Guys; they had turned away Jesus and his followers, had not welcomed them into their village.

Did you ever wonder, by the way, whether the disciples’ approach in seeking shelter might have affected that decision? James and John were incredibly eager to rain fire down on them for the perceived insult; How much of their “we’d be better off without them” attitude do you suppose existed before they found out they weren’t welcome? How much might it have in fact contributed to the Samaritans being less than eager to entertain them?

So now, back to today’s Gospel. It’s just a short time later, and Jesus is telling a story. This time, the Samaritan is the Good Guy: the one whose actions are held up, and offered as the example of what we can be, what we should be. Jesus as the teacher, one who at least some of those gathered listening loved and respected, is reminding the Judeans that the person who makes them the most uncomfortable, just might be better than they thought-- might, in fact, be compassionate, and generous, and kind in ways they wouldn’t expect. He’s asking them to reconsider what they think they know, to look past their fear and mistrust, and see a beloved child of God, doing his best to live in a godly manner, worthy of emulating.

You know, that’s exactly what I found. When I stopped being so defensive and really began to look and listen, I learned that the man by whom I had been so cowed, and had worked to avoid, had been (and this still amazes me) feeling the same way about me as I had about him. In fact, we had been rather like the Judeans and the Samaritans: at loggerheads not really because of our differences, but precisely because we were so very much alike, in our defenses and our self-consciousness. And finally letting go of that, I discovered with joy, brought me the priceless gift of a dear friend: strong and gentle and caring.

Maybe this is one reason why Jesus tells us to “go and do likewise:” to care for one another beyond the expectations of self, or society. Not only for the benefit of others, but for the healing of our own souls, as well. It’s not always easy; but we are blessed when we let God work between us. And think what we lose, otherwise. I might, for example, have missed the opportunity to know, to love and be loved by, one of the finest men I have ever met.

So, my brothers and sisters, think with me, please: who are our neighbors? And how can we loosen our defenses a bit, and be neighbors?

Lord Jesus, bless us to be ever mindful of the needs of others... and our need of them.

Kitchen theology

I've been doing a lot of baking lately. Pies and cobblers and such, as fruit comes into season... and, this week, banana bread.

Banana bread is one of the first things I remember cooking. I learned how in my grandmother's tiny kitchen, when I was pretty tiny myself-- but feeling very grown up as she tied one of her aprons around my waist.

I use Gram's recipe, of course. It's a simple one, really: butter and sugar, eggs and flour, baking soda... and bananas. The key is, you don't go out to buy bananas for bread, at least not if you expect to use them that day. The bread takes most of its moisture from the bananas, and will be much better if they are older, soft and dark-- not spoiled, but well beyond the stage that most folks care to eat them. If you can't get to the baking before they go bad, you can even toss them in the freezer, and thaw them when you feel like cooking. They will be soft and liquidy and mildly icky... and will make wonderful bread.

Gram was fond of this recipe. It soothed her frugal, farm-raised, Depression-era soul, to not let old bananas go to waste, and in fact to turn them into something wonderful, right when they looked their worst.

You know, I learned a lot about the way God works from my Gram, and her banana bread.

Domesticity reigns

Today's plans are simple: much needed chores.

First, shopping. A visit to the grocery store, stocking up on staples (flour, eggs, baking soda...). Maybe a few frills, as well, depending on what looks interesting.

Then, window washing. Vacuuming the cottonwood and such off the screens, and cleaning accumulated crud off both sides of lots of casement windows.

But right now, I'm sitting and enjoying the view, even if the windows are filthy. Just outside are two does, wandering cautiously through my yard. Beautiful.

If it's Tuesday, it must be White County

So, the radio thing went okay. I didn't trip over my own tongue too badly for the 10-15 minutes I was on the air, and the show host was a genial sort, easy to talk to. I also got to play with the station mascot, a stocky bulldog named Spike. And hopefully the folks who were up at 7:45 am and listening to local radio got a sense of St. Mary's, and Grace House, and the ministry we do there.

No Bible study today; the gentleman who normally hosts the group has been ill, and was not up for company. He's improving, but if you have a spare prayer for Bob this evening, I'm sure he would not take it amiss.

The next event on the Monticello calendar for us is an upcoming summer festival downtown. The local merchants are putting it on, and selling booth space on the street for a nominal charge-- $5.00 gets you a parking-space spot in front of the courthouse. St. Mary's has reserved such a slot, and now we need to decide what to do with it. The goal is to garner a bit more awareness in the community, both for the parish and for the mission. We were brainstorming ideas a bit today, but there's not a real rush. The festival is not for another month: August 7, my last weekend with the congregation.

If you've got suggestions... I can't promise that we'll use them, but I'm listening.

"Can you hear me now?"

Tomorrow is Publicity Day. I have an article to drop off for the Chamber of Commerce newsletter, and an interview (roughly 8:00 AM CST) with the morning drive guy at the local radio station: Sunny WMRS in Monticello.

Please pray that I sound coherent, and that I manage to remember the info about Grace House that I'm hoping to get out. Heck, pray that I can remember my own name without sounding too goofy.

A can of paint, a roll of tape, and thou...

This morning, I walked into the front hall, and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary; it's a space that testifies to this being a home folks live in. The trim was chipped, the doors scuffed, the walls marked beyond any hope of cure by simple scrubbing.

Oh, it's been that way for a while; kids and critters live here, and that takes its toll over time. But it's one of those home maintenance tasks that we've put off, for lack of time, saying we'll fix it "one of these days."

Well, I decided that today was the day; I've looked at it long enough. So I trotted down to the local Do-It-Yourself Warehouse store, and picked up a handful of paint chips. I decided on the trim color (one of the multitudinous flavors of white available) and bought a gallon, along with a couple new brushes. Three hours, and a bit "volunteer" recruiting later (all four of us were weilding brushes, and even one of CJ's friends came over and pitched in!), we now have freshly painted woodwork and closet doors.

I'm still deciding about the wall color, but there's some significant patching to be done; so I've propped some color chips up here and there, the better to weigh my options while I spackle.

Boy howdy, that feels good.

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 9C
Galatians 6:1-18

I am an American.
That's the way most of us put it, just matter of factly. They are plain words, those four. You could write them on your thumbnail, or you could sweep them clear across this bright autumn sky. But remember too that they are more than words. They are a way of life. So whenever you speak them, speak them firmly; speak them proudly; speak them gratefully...
I am an American.

This short statement has been read at the beginning of every football game played at Purdue University’s Ross-Ade Stadium for more than 30 years-- since 1966, I’m told. I remember hearing it, when I was a student, and the rush of feeling that would sweep the stadium as the standing crowd would join in the last four words. “I am an American.” It was indeed a moment of pride.

We do have a lot to be proud of, here in this country. American scientists and engineers are brilliant, technological leaders in a technological age. American farmers, through use of modern agricultural science largely developed in this country, feed a significant portion of the world’s population every day. The U. S. Constitution, and the political and judicial system that stems from it, allows for personal freedoms unheard of in many places around the world. The sacrifices of “lives, and fortunes, and sacred honor” vowed by the writers of the Declaration of Independence, have been made by men and women throughout the history of this nation, and continues to be true, in ways that are both humbling and inspiring, every day.

Before we get too comfortable, however, we should remember that our country, like anything else made by human effort, is not a uniformly perfect thing. There have been, and continue to be, fault lines-- cracks in the veneer of the system we so love. It’s not hard to find them. A quick romp through American political history, for example, reveals...

...the Trail of Tears, the 1,000 mile forced march of the Cherokee from Georgia to Oklahoma through the fall and winter, that resulted in the death of thousands of men, women and children.

...the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II; incarceration of more than 120,000 people for no crime other than their ancestry.

...the pervasively discriminatory legal abuses-- the segregation, and denial of basic human dignity-- that eventually led to the civil rights movement. One particularly egregious example of this was a research project at the Tuskegee Institute, funded by the Public Health Service for nearly 40 years, from 1932 until 1970. Some 400 black men diagnosed with syphilis were deliberately left untreated-- given aspirin, and iron supplements, rather than medication that would have cured them-- and then studied to watch the progression of the disease.

And it still continues, even today. In the current news, remember, we have military personnel torturing Iraqi prisoners, and a Justice Department who maintains in a recently released memo that torture “may be justified” in criminal interrogations.

So, as much as we have to be proud of in this nation of ours, as much as there is worthy of remembering and celebration this Independence Day, there are also some things that do not justify our pride and respect-- events and actions that are not so fun to remember, that are in fact cause for shame, rather than pride, and repentance, rather than boasting.

So, how do we deal with that? How do we live into this two-sided truth? Do we focus on the good that our country is, and has done, and try to forget our mistakes? That’s one possibility, and an approach taken by some well-intentioned people, who see that as the way they support their country. You’ve seen the signs, I’m sure: “America: Love It or Leave It.” Unfortunately, trying to forget history doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, and ignoring current problems seldom makes them go away.

Do we instead take the opposite tack, and focus intentionally on the problems, pointing out all the faults and errors we see, in the name of truth and justice? I’ve known some folks who make this choice... and then become so consumed by the injustices and wrongs that they perceive in our society, that they become cynical and hopeless, unable to see their way to any virtue at all, and doing more harm than good as a result.

I would suggest another approach. Paul’s approach, as he expresses it in his letter to the Galatian church.

To do this, he gives first us the example of a middle road. He remembers that there is both virtue and fault in the community he addresses. His love and responsibility for them does not blind him to either side of the truth. He reminds them that they are “people who have received the Spirit,” that their primary identity is as Christians, beloved children of God, even as he acknowledges that there are problems to be addressed. Then he offers two injunctions for undertaking necessary correction:

(1) to offer it “in a spirit of gentleness:” kindly, tenderly, and with care. Elsewhere, in his letter to the Ephesians, Paul says the same thing: “Speak the truth in love,” he tells them. Harsh criticism may be warranted; but if we stop there, and don’t temper it with love, we miss the chance for restoration. Biting sarcasm may feel really good, but how does that bring about an improvement in the situation?

(2) to “be careful lest you are tempted,” and “test your own work,” in the process. We cannot control the behaviors, and attitudes, of those around us, but we certainly can try to control our own.

Secondly, Paul reminds us to keep trying. “Let us not grow weary in doing what is right,” he says. “Whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all.” That last word is key. All. Not just some people, or my chosen special interest group, or the people I like, or the party I agree with. All.

Finally, as we offer our loyalty to our beloved country on this Fourth of July, Paul reminds us that we first owe allegiance to a higher kingdom. “May I never boast of anything,” Paul says, “except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ...” It can seem tempting to boast of our country, out of patriotic fervor, though it is far from perfect. However, we do not need to ever be reluctant to proclaim our faith in a God who is...

...Who created everything that is, infinity beyond our imagining, and yet counts each of us as so precious that even the hairs on our heads are numbered.

...Who is the force behind the greatest forces we know; and yet came gently to walk among us, teaching and sharing our lives, showing us a way to live that is better than what we can be on our own.

...Who suffered through some of the worst sort of shameful degradation and abuse that humanity could dish out, accepted an ignominious death, and rose beyond it, for our sakes, yours and mine.

In this we can boast, my brothers and sisters, for in this is our hope and our salvation.

I am a Christian.
That's the way most of us put it, just matter of factly. They are plain words, those four. You could write them on your thumbnail, or you could sweep them clear across this bright summer sky. But remember too that they are more than words. They are a way of life. So whenever you speak them, speak them firmly; speak them proudly; speak them gratefully...

I am a Christian.

Fireworks

We just got back from our community's Independence Day fireworks show. It rained on and off all day, so we weren't sure that they'd be shooting 'em off this evening; but we decided to chance it anyway.

So we joined several thousand crazed suburbanites in the high school parking lot, waiting for the show to begin; watching the skies for both sparkly explosions and raindrops.

And we got both. The rain held off for most of the show... and then suddenly came down in a deluge, triggering the longest fireworks finale I've ever seen, as the pyrotechnic experts tried to shoot everything off before it all got too wet.

We came home soaked to the skin, clothes and hair plastered and dripping.

What an absolute riot.

Company? Nope-- family.

We have houseguests this weekend! Bruce's sister and her family are in town for a friend's wedding, and so we're lucky enough to have them staying with us for a couple of days. Lisa and Tony have two daughters: Quetzal is 6, and Rio is 4.

Kyle and the girls have had a lot of fun chasing around this evening, and are now (hopefully) down for the night. They have plans for some serious artwork in the morning-- all the supplies are laid out on the kitchen table, waiting for their eager efforts. I love kid art; I can hardly wait to see the results.

"Some are teachers..."

In last Sunday's sermon, I made reference to AKMA, and the first class I took under his tutelage. I called him "one of my favorite professors."

If you read this, you'll know why.

Hospitality

Yesterday morning I spent some time dealing with a bit of conflict between one of the Grace House residents and a volunteer, who was asking her to leave. This was an issue that I walked into on Tuesday, and which continues over into today. No, we're not done yet, but it's getting better; and I have hopes of a godly resolution to the situation.

Then last evening, I went up to campus for a bit, to join those still "on the block" for the summer in bidding farewell to some dear friends, as they leave the wonderful world of seminary. They were still packing, and a bit frazzled that it was not done, seeing as how they need to leave first thing this morning. The group of us gathered at the party solved the problem by promising to finish boxing up what was left over the weekend (the moving truck won't be here for a few days yet). So then we all trooped downstairs to graze on munchies, pop and beer, and to relax in good company for an hour or two.

Being both in the same day, I can't help but lay these two events next to one another. And it seems to me that they both boil down to questions of hospitality.

How do we, as Christians, behave toward those whose lives we touch? Welcoming the stranger, and honoring the brother or sister, are two sides of the same coin.

How do we care for one another? Paul gives us a tidy list of instructions; but like many biblical injunctions, they're easier to say than to do. This is both the joy and the challenge of living a disciple's life.

And how do we allow others to care for us? Sometimes, that last question can be the hardest one to answer.

Brother, sister, let me serve you
let me be as Christ to you
Pray that I may have the grace
to let you be my servant, too.